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A few months ago, this space was loud with chants, rage, and police sirens. Now it is quieter, filled with canvases, broken objects, photographs, and people speaking in low voices. Unsilenced Voices stands right outside the Parliament building, in a space shaped to represent authority and separation from the street. Its placement is deliberate. The works do not decorate the space, they interrupt it. Using fragments of the protest,  materials left behind, fleeting images, half-remembered words, it asserts memory. The installation emerged in the aftermath of youth-led protests that swept through Kathmandu, fueled by frustration with governance, accountability, and political indifference. What began as demonstrations demanding change escalated into confrontations, met with heavy police response, leaving injuries, arrests, and even deaths among protesters. Though the streets eventually quieted, the questions the protests raised remain. What stands out is not just the works themselves, but the way people move through the space. There is no hurry, no performative outrage. Visitors pause, read, return. Some speak in hushed tones, others remain silent. The space demands a different kind of attention than the streets once did, one that is slower, heavier, and impossible to ignore. For the artists, this is not about turning resistance into decoration. It is a refusal to let memory fade. In a city that quickly moves on, that rebrands unrest as disruption and treats loss as collateral, Unsilenced Voices insists that September did not end quietly. It recalls the streets alive with chants, the smoke of burning tires, the sirens cutting through the air, and the grief of families who lost children, friends, and neighbors. The installation does not offer easy answers, comforting slogans, or tidy conclusions. Instead, it asks viewers to engage with grief, to feel the weight of anger that still simmers, and to confront what was left unresolved when the protests subsided. Every visitor moving through the space is reminded of what was lost, what was fought for, and what was silenced in September. This is not art for walls,it is the echo of streets that demanded to be heard, now transformed into objects that will not let the city forget. The protests may have ended, but the forces that sparked them remain. In this light, the installation is not a memorial meant to close a chapter; it marks the consequences the city has yet to reckon with. Even as the streets grow quiet, the calls for justice and accountability persist, carried in images, objects, and words that demand to be seen and felt. The city may appear calm, but the questions raised in September have not been answered.